


What We Do in Times of Need

by adroitstories



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drinking, M/M, Prostitution, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 02:16:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4286964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adroitstories/pseuds/adroitstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky and Steve are twenty bucks short of their rent. And Bucky would do anything for Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What We Do in Times of Need

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: 7/7/2015- Hey guys. I was lucky enough to receive an anonymous comment that pointed out a couple of mistakes I made when writing this. One was the fact that Steve and Bucky's apartment probably was not $1635, as the median rent for urban housing was closer to $30. *facepalm* Two, that I improperly used the phrase 'knocked up' to mean have sex with, when it actually means to get someone pregnant. *double facepalm* I have now fixed the errors and, again, anonymous commenter, I thank you very much for caring enough to point out my errors. I will do better research next time. Anyways, thanks for reading!
> 
> Source for housing info: https://www.census.gov/1940census/pdf/infographic1_text_version.pdf

Bucky glared at the calendar again. Rent was due in a week. Steve’s birthday was in ten days. He and Steve had to make twenty-two bucks. And then for the gift Bucky needed to make ten more. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“Bucky?” 

He turned to see Steve leaning against the doorway, frowning. Bucky put on a smile for him.

“Yeah, just running through the plan again. I’m gonna work three straight shifts at the docks tomorrow, then the day after, I work another two, then I just keep alternating. You’ll work at the diner tonight, go deliver papers in the morning, then the candy store in the afternoon, then repeat. We can do this, Steve,” he said, seeing the look on Steve’s face.

He grinned wanly and walked towards Bucky. He took a seat next to him. “Yeah, as long as I don’t get sick again.”

Bucky clapped his thin frame. “That’s the spirit, Stevie.” They both looked at the calendar again. Bucky glanced at Steve out of the corner of his eye. His eyelids were drooping. He’d had a long shift at the diner last night, catching only maybe a couple hours of sleep before needing to head out on his route.

“Time for you to sleep, Stevie. Did you eat anything lately?” Bucky fussed, practically pulling Steve out of his seat. 

Steve opened one eye. “I had some leftover beans from last night.”

“When?” Bucky demanded. He knew for a fact that no dishes had been washed since last night.

“ ‘Bout ten minutes after I got up to deliver the papers.”

Bucky pursed his lips. “Dirty liar,” he sighed. “Don’t sleep before I go make you some food.”

“Not hungry.”

“Well, if you don’t fuckin’ eat, Steve, you’re going to get sick again. And then we’re gonna be in trouble,” Bucky snapped. Steve opened both eyes now and glared at him. Then Steve sighed.

“Fine. But only if you split it with me.”

“Punk.”

“Jerk.”

oOo

Bucky inhaled the smoke of a cigarette, feeling instantly relived. He breathed out, watching the smoke disappear into the night sky. It was nice, really. Being by the water at night. It wasn’t quiet. Bucky heard the clang of metal and the dull roar of the ship's’ engines. And there were lots of people that just screamed trouble. But the water gave the place a bit of peace, and the stars above shone bright as diamonds. He saw the silhouettes of so many quiet ships. The low light of the street lamps capped it off with a dreamy feel.

He never told anyone, but one time, he carved his initials next to Steve’s in one of the posts. It was the night after Steve almost died. Stupid punk, Bucky thought, glowering at the water. 

Steve hadn’t been home when Bucky arrived. He should’ve been. It was almost 2 am.

“Steve?” he’d called to an empty house. He’d slept with this dame he met at a bar. She was blonde, with big candy blue eyes. When she took a fifteen-second drag on his cigarette without breaking eye contact he knew he had to have her.

He had checked the cots where they slept. He checked with Mrs. Jones next door. She’d always been nice, almost grandmotherly to them. Maybe Steve went over to be nice to the old lady, Bucky had thought in a panic. When she arrived at the door, woken by his frantic pounding, she shook her head. Steve wasn’t there, he remembered her saying. He remembered running down to the diner. The lights were off, the floor was mopped, and no one was there. He’d run faster that night then he ever had before in his life.

He’d searched every alley down the block and the next. Then he ran back to the apartment and searched every back alley in a block radius.

Nothing.

Empty.

Nobody.

He’d finally found Steve in the filthiest one, the one that smelled like shit and garbage and week-old meat, sprawled face down on the asphalt, limbs crooked and blood dripping from his open mouth. He had screamed then. He’d carried Steve back to the apartment and stripped him of his bloody shirt and torn pants. He had started crying when he looked at Steve in the light. 

“Fuck, Steve,” he whispered.

Bruises darkened the concave of Steve’s torso, black and ugly purple. There was a lump on the back of Steve’s head that was probably too large to be healthy. Steve’s face was a mess to look at. His lips were swollen with cuts. His nose was most likely broken, and he had two black eyes. Blood dripped down from several cuts on Steve’s forehead, matting his blond hair and covering the pillow with streaks of red. He sobbed Steve’s name like a prayer, hoping that the faint heartbeat he heard wasn’t too weak. 

He had never been a religious man, but he had prayed that night. He had never felt so helpless. He knew Steve was liable to get into fights, but none of them had ever, ever been this bad. He thought at least one of Steve’s arms was broken, but he cleaned him up the best he could and changed his clothes and warmed up some broth if Steve woke up. When he did, Bucky had thought. When he did.

He’d thought of living in a world without Steve and his heart stopped. He forced down the thought and looked at his stupid, stupid punk in the living room. He tried to think of what he would do without Steve and thought that there wasn’t a whole lot to do. His whole life had been with Steve. They had never been separated, even when they were kids. Steve was his best friend. The world would be an even shittier place without Steve, he thought. And he realized he loved the man. His whole heart had ached with it.

After Steve woke up, Bucky almost cried again. But he pulled himself together and almost screamed at Steve, he was so angry. When Steve assured him nothing was broken, and promised he would pick bad fights like that (he was lying, Bucky knew), and was eating a little bit of soup, Bucky felt that he could go to the library and read a couple books on medicine. He would never, ever feel that helpless, taking care of Steve agin.

Bucky looked out at the docks. He didn’t care that it was wrong. Okay, he cared a bit. Men loved women. Women loved men. Men under no circumstances were supposed to love other men. He figured it was the same for women. But he’d be damned before he’d leave Steve. He might find a girl he really liked, liked enough to forget about Steve if he left, a sly voice said in his head. Bucky shook his head. He didn’t want to leave.

Steve always said he was waiting for the right girl. And Bucky knew himself well enough that he knew he was never going to find a girl that could compare with Steve. He was too far gone. So he would stick with Steve as long as he could. But when Steve found a dame that looked at him and saw him… Bucky didn’t know what he was going to do when that happened. His heart hurt at the thought.

Bucky crushed his cigarette butt under his foot and started walking home. A drunken voice slurred, “Hey, sweetheart. I know someplace you can put those lips.” Bucky grit his teeth and kept walking.

oOo

Bucky glared at the calendar. Rent was due in three days. They were still ten bucks short. He pinched the bridge of his nose, nearly at his wit’s end. He had sold his jacket and spare sweater for about two bucks each. Steve had lectured him about that.

“What are you going to do when it gets cold again, Buck!?” he had yelled. Bucky had shrugged.

“We got time, a lotta time, Stevie. Don’t worry about it.”

Steve had thrown his tiny hands in the air. “When are we going to ever have the money to buy you that again? We’ve already got one sick person in the house, don’t make it two.”

Bucky grimaced and looked out the small window. He had an idea as to where they could get the money. It was dark outside. None of the stars shone, and there was no moon. 

A wheezing breath caught his attention. He turned towards Steve, who was fast asleep on the cot. For such a little guy, he took up so much room in the bed. He moved so much he usually kicked Bucky, who slept on the couch next to him. Bucky melted when he saw how young Steve looked, how the worry lines smoothed out. He was beautiful, Bucky thought wistfully. He’s always been beautiful. The sight gave Bucky the resolve he needed to go out tonight. Steve’s worth everything he had. He checked to make sure he had shaved then whispered, “Love you” to the sleeping Steve. He never had the courage to say it any louder.

As Bucky walked down to the bar, he felt a little bitter. He wanted Steve to be his first. Well, first man anyways. But he shoved the thought aside as he downed his first shot. He needed to be a little drunk for this, if it wasn’t Steve. He drank a second, then a third. He put a dollar on the bar and stepped out, head buzzing pleasantly.

He licked his lips and bit them until they were swollen and red as he walked. He made his eyes bigger and wider. Last night at the bar he tried to study the dames there, seeing how they picked up their fellas. He tried to imitate them. 

He walked around the street really slowly, and a rough voice asked him, “You wanna dance, sweetheart?”

He grinned, shy and demure like a dame. “Sure, I’ll take you for a spin.”

They did it in the closest alley. Bucky wrinkled his nose as he knelt in piss. The man sighed as he pulled his cock out. His cock was heavy and thick, but not too long. Bucky sucked and swirled his tongue around the tip, trying to remember how Elise Sinclair did it for him when he was eighteen. He kissed and licked the sides and sucked the cock down to the root, burying his face in the coarse hair there. The man swore quietly.

He must have done a good job because not two minutes later the man grunted and shoved Bucky's face down even farther. Bucky struggled only for a moment. Then his mouth was flooded. It was hot and thick and salty. 

"Swallow," the man said. Bucky did as told. He was handed two wrinkled dollars. The man zipped up and walked away. 

Bucky stared at the money in dumb shock. Two dollars? For sucking a cock? He might do this more often, he thought wryly. 

He got seven more customers that night. He earned a grand total of eight bucks. 

oOo

Bucky woke up on the first of July, face and jaw aching. He could feel bruises forming. He looked over at Steve and saw that he had already left to go on his paper route. He sighed and leaned back on the couch. 

They had earned $45, ten more dollars than they needed to pay their rent. Steve had been suspicious as to where Bucky got the extra money from. They had meticulously planned it. But Bucky had shrugged and said that he'd gotten in a fight with one of the other dock workers and the boss had felt bad and paid Bucky a little extra. It explained the bruises on his face, too. 

Bucky stretched then headed towards their bathroom. He sucked in a breath at his appearance. His jaw and chin was covered in bruises, and there were red marks on his neck from where people had forced him down. He whistled. Steve was not going to be pleased. 

He made himself some coffee and toast and sat at their little table. It was nice, not needing to go to work today. Steve had agreed he should take the day off. Shifts at the docs were seven hours long, and with his newfound job, he'd been getting less and less sleep every night. He stared out at the skyline of New York and smiled. Steve loved this view when he got a day off from the paper. 

He drank the last dregs of coffee from his mug and checked the box under the couch. It was a horrible hiding place, he admitted, but it was someplace to hide the extra money he got from sucking people off. 

Since he'd started three nights ago, he'd made thirty bucks. He was going to spend eight on Steve's present, and another two on food for the special day. The rest would be tucked away, in case they ever needed it. Which, knowing Steve, they probably would. He balled up five dollars and left a note for Steve, then went shopping. 

He bought a chicken from Mr. Andreas, the butcher down the street and some canned vegetables from next door. Then he walked down to the art supplies store and eyed the pencils and the creamy pages of the notebooks. He wasn't even an artist, like Steve, and he could admire how nice the paper was. 

"Ahem," the woman across the counter said. She eyed Bucky, clearly disgusted by his shabbiness, his bags of groceries, the bruises on his face, the way he screamed 'Lower-class'. Bucky arranged his face into a neutral smile and put the notebook down. He grabbed the food and walked out. 

oOo

They watched the fireworks that night, how they lit up the sky in a thousand colors. The display that year was fantastic, even though the war was going on. Bucky watched Steve's lazy smile and wondered what he was thinking. He thought about asking Steve how he saw the fireworks. Steve was colorblind, but that meant he made beautiful pencil sketches. Sometimes charcoal. Their legs dangled off the roof. Bucky had been against sitting on the edge, but Steve had given him that grin and he found himself saying yes. Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. If he didn't watch himself, Steve might pick up on something... Well, queer. 

But it was too tempting. Steve was gorgeous as he looked up at the fireworks. He always had that wide-eyed wonder in his eyes as he looked up at the sky. If he had asked, Bucky would have given him every star. 

Bucky gripped the pencils and notebook tightly. Steve was still watching the sky light up in blues and reds. Bucky had also bought two oranges. Their birthday treat. They were really expensive, especially with the war going on, but it was worth it for Steve. 

"Hey," Bucky said. Steve turned to see Bucky holding a lumpy package wrapped in newspaper. "Happy birthday."

His reaction was the same as always. "Buck, you really shouldn't have." He accepted the package reluctantly. When he unwrapped it, his eyes almost bugged out of his bead. Bucky laughed. “Bucky,” he breathed, “oh god Bucky, you really shouldn’t have.” He did smile, though. “How much did this cost?”

Bucky waved his hand. “Doesn’t matter. Its only once in a while, and I’ve been saving up for it for a long time.”

“How long?”

Bucky grinned as he lied. “Almost a year. And,” he added when Steve didn’t look convinced, “Mrs. Jones may have loaned me some of the cash. She’s got a real sweet spot for you, Stevie. Don’t ask her about it, though. I promised I wouldn’t tell you she was involved.

“One more thing,” Bucky said, pulling out the oranges. Steve gasped. “Remember, this was a special treat.” The joy in Steve’s eyes was worth every bruise. But then again, Steve was always worth it.

“Happy birthday, Steve.” Bucky would have said ‘I love you,’ but he didn’t have the courage.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Comments are always welcome, as well as criticism. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
